Consolation Prize
by allthingsdecent
Summary: Early Season 6, Cuddy is dating Lucas but can't seem to stay away from House.


**Yo! This one takes place early Season 6. I've been on a little Season 6 kick lately, for reasons unknown. Settle in with a nice cold beverage, because this sucker is looooong.**

**By the way, if you're in a Season 6 state of mind, definitely check out Maya295's latest, "Redeem Me." xo, ATD**

**Special thanks to Maya, Z, Frenchie, and Sandy for words of encouragement.**

Cuddy was awakened to the sound of her phone ringing on the nightstand.

She looked at the number: House.

It was 1 am.

"Who is it?" Lucas murmured, in his sleep.

"It's no one," Cuddy whispered. "Go back to bed."

She tiptoed into the hall, answered the phone.

"Butt dialing in your sleep again, House?" she said.

"Dr. Lisa Cuddy please," House slurred.

Oh great. He was drunk.

"House, it's me. Where are you?"

"Hold on." He put down the phone. She could hear laughter, voices, music—a bar. "Excuse me, kind sir. Can you please tell me where I am?"

"Sullivan's," a male voice said.

"Sullivan's," House repeated mechanically into the phone.

"Why are you calling me, House?"

"The bartender is under the impression I am too inebr. . .inebr. . .too drunk to drive home."

"Ya _think_? And you couldn't call Wilson?"

"Calling Wilson didn't seem like the wisest of ideas."

Of course. Amber.

"A cab?"

"No money left. Turns out, when you say, 'Drinks for everyone!' they expect you to pay. In full."

Cuddy sighed.

"I'll be right there."

"Bless you."

She padded back into the bedroom, tried to find a pair of jeans and her shoes in the dark without rousing Lucas.

But he stirred again, and then, much to her great annoyance, woke up.

"Everything okay, babe?"

"Fine. I just need to… take care of something. I'll be back in half an hour."

Now he sat up, turned on the light.

"Hospital emergency?"

Shit. Her instinct was to lie, but ever since House had drunkenly declared his love for her in Lucas's apartment, she'd promised herself that House wouldn't come between them. Lying about this would be a bad first step.

"It's House," she said. "He's at a bar. He's drunk. He has no money and he needs a ride home."

"And naturally he called you," Lucas said testily.

"Calling Wilson didn't seem like the best idea under the circumstances."

"My thoughts exactly. The last time House needed a ride home from a bar, somebody died."

"That's not fair! You know that wasn't House's fault."

"You stay in bed. I'll get House."

"No!" Cuddy said. She was surprised by the forcefulness in her voice.

"Why not?"

"Because he called me."

"Does he need a ride? Or does he need _you_ to give him the ride?"

"He asked a friend for a favor. I'm not just going to pawn him off on you."

"Forget it, Lisa. I've been around House when he's drunk. When House gets drunk, all he does is profess his undying love for you."

"I can handle him."

"I'm going with you—and I won't take no for an answer."

Cuddy rolled her eyes, almost imperceptibly.

"Fine," she said. "He's at Sullivan's."

Lucas drove.

After 10 minutes, they got to the bar. House was sitting on the sidewalk, his head in his hands.

When he looked up and saw Lucas, his face fell.

"Hiya, House!" Lucas said, slightly victoriously.

House gave Cuddy a hurt look.

"Lucas insisted he come with me," she explained hastily.

"Afraid for Cuddy to be alone with me when she's been drinking?" He made a face, realizing he'd messed that up. "I mean, uh, when _I've _been drinking?"

"Afraid to let my girl drive into this shitty part of town in the middle of the night," Lucas said.

"Cuddy can take care of herself!" House declared. He grabbed his cane with both hands and used it as an anchor to lift himself up

"She doesn't need to anymore," Lucas said. "She has me."

"Ha!" House said.

Lucas opened the back seat of the car.

"Get in, House."

House peered in quizzically.

"Ohmygod!" he said. "You left Rachel home alone!"

"She's at Deer Creek Lake with my sister," Cuddy said.

"Oh. . .did I interrupt a romantic night in?" House said, sliding into the backseat. "Cause if you guys were about to have sex, I could've waited an extra 45 seconds."

Cuddy frowned. House had no idea how close to home he had just hit.

As Lucas started the car, House leaned forward into the front seat.

"So you two having sleepovers every night now?"

"None of your business," they answered in unison.

"House sit back," Cuddy said. "Put your seatbelt on."

"What is he? 5?" Lucas said.

"Emotional-maturity-wise, yes," Cuddy said.

"Cuddy always gives me a juice box and tucks me in for my nap at the office," House said.

But he sat back, put on his seatbelt.

Out of nowhere, he let out a loud laugh.

"What's so funny House?" Lucas said.

"Nothing. You two. Together. Sometimes it just makes me laugh."

Cuddy looked at Lucas apologetically. He gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, but said nothing.

Ten minutes later, they got to House's apartment.

"Out you go, House!" Lucas said.

House got out of the car, stumbled, almost fell on his face.

"I'm just going to make sure he gets inside okay," Cuddy said. "Be right back."

And she slammed the door before Lucas could protest.

"You need help walking?" she said to House, grabbing his arm.

"Whenever I drink, I limp," he said. "Also, whenever I don't drink."

She chuckled.

They walked inside, stood in front of his apartment.

"Thanks for rescuing me, Cuddy," he said, leaning against the doorframe.

"It's what I do, House," she said dryly.

"Speaking of tucking me in. . .?"

"Can't. Boyfriend in car."

"Otherwise?"

"Otherwise. . ." she looked at him. His shorter hair and fuller beard—a leftover from Mayfield—had the effect of making his eyes look even more blue. "There's no point in otherwise. It is what it is. . ."

"Was kinda hoping you'd come rescue me alone," he admitted.

"Yeah," she said, almost inaudibly. "Me too."

Just then, they heard a male voice:

"He seems to have made it inside just fine."

So Lucas hadn't stayed in the car after all.

"G'night Cuddy," House said sadly.

And he closed the door.

########

She bumped into him in the elevator the next day at work.

"So much for my plan to avoid you all day," House said, with a slightly embarrassed smile.

"How's the head?"

"Nothing a guillotine couldn't cure."

"Would you mind if I asked you why you needed to get so hammered last night the bartender had to take away your keys?" she asked.

"Would you mind if I asked you why you're dating a man-child? Friends Don't Let Friends Date Lucas, you know."

"Nice sidestep of my question."

"I always like to get rip-roaring drunk on my birthday," he explained. "It's a time-honored tradition."

"Yesterday wasn't your birthday!" she said.

"No," he said. "It's next Tuesday. I'm in training."  
#####

On Tuesday, she swung by his office.

"Big plans tonight?" she asked.

"Pour, drink, repeat," he said.

"Just you and Wilson?"

"Just me, myself, and I," said House.

"Where's Wilson?"

"He got roped into babysitting his ex-wife's step-daughter."

"He _what?_. . . " She shook her head. "Nevermind."

"What about Chase? Foreman?. . . _Taub?_"

"I think you just answered your own question."

"So really? You're going to be all alone on your birthday?"

"It sure beats the alternative: Being with other people."

She sighed.

"You sure?"

"Positive."

"Okay, hermit. Happy birthday."

She leaned across the desk, gave him a "friendly" kiss. Her lips lingered perhaps a bit longer than they should have on his cheek.

He gave her a longing look.

"Thanks Cuddy."

#####

"You look great babe!" Lucas said, looking up from the couch where he was watching some sort of poker tournament on TV. "Where ya going?"

Shit. She hadn't been aiming for great. Just slightly more put together than before.

"I need to swing by House's place for a few minutes," Cuddy said, fastening an earring, trying to keep her voice casual. This newfound commitment to honesty was going to be the death of her.

"House? Why?"

"It's his birthday. He's all alone. I just want to drop off his present."

"Give it to him tomorrow at work. Or better still, don't give it to him at all."

"He's a dear friend. He's all alone on his birthday. I won't be gone long."

Lucas folded his arms.

"I really would prefer you didn't…"

"Remember that talk we had about being jealous of House?"

Lucas nodded.

"And what did we say?"

"That I had nothing to worry about because you had made your choice and you picked me," Lucas said, obediently.

"So?" She gave him an encouraging kiss.

Lucas sighed.

"Alright. But don't stay long, okay?"

"I'll be back before you know it."

#####

She lit the cupcake, then hesitated before knocking on House's door.

What if he had hired a hooker? He did that sort of thing, right? A little birthday present from him to him.

She was emboldened, somewhat, by the sound of his piano. He wouldn't play piano for a hooker, would he?

But what if he did? What if it was part of his seduction routine? . . .

_You don't need to seduce a hooker, Lisa, _she scolded herself._ They're a sure thing._

What if it's not a hooker? What if it's someone else? A secret girlfriend? A _date?_  
The wax from the candle was beginning to drip onto the cupcake. She was making herself crazy.

She had driven all the way to his apartment. Bought the damn cupcake. Made him a little gift. What was she going to do? Leave?

So she inhaled, knocked.

He came to the door. He was wearing a t-shirt and pajama bottoms, holding a glass of scotch. He looked distinctly sober. And he was definitely alone.

"Happy birthday!" she said, raising the cupcake somewhat sheepishly.

The look on his face erased any of her doubts—it was one of unadulterated joy.

"Cuddy!" he said. "You crazy woman. What are you doing here?"

He stepped aside to let her in.

"First blow out this candle and make a wish. Cause I'm getting hot wax on my fingers."

He blew out the candle, then handed it to back her, icing side first. She slowly licked the icing off the end. She didn't mean for it to be a sexy gesture . . . or maybe she did.

"That was my wish," House said, eyeing her. She blushed.

He took the cupcake, put it down in the kitchen.

"Can I get you a drink?"

"Half a glass," Cuddy said. "I can't stay long."

He poured her half a glass of scotch.

"I also got you this," she said.

It was a folded piece of paper.

He unfolded it. Read it:

THIS CERTIFICATE ENTITLES THE BEARER TO 5 GET-OUT-OF-CLINIC-DUTY-FREE HOURS. BEARER CAN CASH IN ON HIS FREEDOM FROM RUNNY NOSES, ASSORTED VENEREAL DISEASES, AND TRANSPARENT DRUG-SEEKERS WHENEVER HE SEES FIT. HOWEVER, BEARER'S BOSS RESERVES THE RIGHT TO FORCE HIM TO DO IT IF HE'S REALLY GETTING ON HER NERVES.

LOVE,

CUDDY

House laughed.

"How did you know?" he said mirthfully.

"Found it a book, _What to Get For the Guy Who Hates Everything_."

"I don't hate everything," he said, stepping toward her. "For example, I don't . ."

But she took a step back.

"Don't House. Let's just enjoy a birthday toast as friends, okay?"

He blinked at her. Sighed.

"If you say so."

And they clinked glasses.

#####

A few days after his birthday, she noticed that House was limping more severely than usual.

She followed him down the hallway.

"Your leg bothering you?" she asked, concerned.

"Is the sky blue? Is Taub short? Is your skirt tight?"

She shook her head.

"Your limp is noticeably worse."

"It's been acting up a bit lately. Don't overreact."

"How are you managing the pain?"

"I doubled up on my Vicodin dosage." Then he covered his mouth, as though he had just let something slip: "Oh, you got me!"

"Don't joke about that, House. It's not funny to me."

"Trust me. It's not funny to me either."

"Promise to call me if you're even _thinking_ about taking a Vicodin, okay?"

"No," House said, seriously.

"No?"

"I don't want Pukas knowing I'm in pain."

"I won't tell him."

"You told him about the other night—at Sullivan's."

"What was I supposed to do House? _Lie _to him? He woke up and saw that I was leaving."

House shrugged.

"Maybe you haven't noticed this Cuddy, but I don't like other people knowing my business."

She bit her lip.

"I promise I won't tell Lucas, okay? Call me if you're trouble."

House nodded.

#####

Two nights later, Cuddy and Lucas were lying in bed, watching Letterman, when the phone rang. She looked at it.

"It's the hospital," she lied. "I'll take it in my office."

She walked to her office, closed the door.

"House?" she whispered.

"Can you come over?" he said, in a somewhat unsteady voice.

"Your leg?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"You haven't taken anything, have you?" Her heart was racing a bit.

"No. I did what you said. I called you."

"I'll be right over."

She opened the door to her office.

"Babe, everything okay?" it was Lucas. He was always eavesdropping and lurking in a creepy sort of way—one of the drawbacks of dating a private eye, she supposed.

"Small fire I need to put out at the hospital," she said. "Hopefully I won't be gone too long."

"They really need to pay you more," he said, not at all suspicious, kissing her on the cheek.

"Don't wait up," she said.

She hated lying to Lucas, but she'd made a promise to House.

She got in her car, even went so far as to drive in the direction of the hospital, just in case he was following her. When she was sure the coast was clear, she drove to his apartment.

She knocked, but he didn't answer. So she cautiously opened the door.

He was sitting on the couch, curled up in a ball, coated in sweat, positively emanating pain.

"Oh my God," she said, rushing toward him. "Are you okay?"

He closed his eyes, grimaced.

"The Advil isn't working," he said, ironically.

"Do you have anything stronger?" she said. "Toradol?"

"I have Vicodin," he said.

"House, you're a recovering addict. What are you even doing with Vicodin?"

"Contingency plan."

She sat down next to him. Reminded herself that he hadn't taken anything. He had called her.

"Here, hold my hand," she said.

House looked up, as though he was seeing a ghost.

"What is it?" she said, squeezing his hand.

"Nothing. It's just that you said that exact same thing. . .nevermind. . ."

_In his hallucination._

"What can I do?" she asked.

"I suppose a blowjob is completely out of the question," he cracked, through grit teeth.

For a crazy split second, she actually considered it. The idea of getting on her knees, taking him in her mouth, relieving his pain, was a strange kind of turn-on. But that would be the end of any pretense of friendship between them.

"Short of a blowjob," she said, with a smile to let him know she wasn't offended.

"Worth a shot," he said. "Just. . .talk to me."

"Talk? About what?"

"About anything. . . I like the sound of your voice."

"I thought the sound of my voice got on your nerves," she teased.

"The sound of _anyone's_ voice telling me what to do gets on my nerves. But yours less so than others."

So she talked. She talked about the time she was 7 and she ran way from home (she hid in her next door neighbor's tree house for 12 hours; her parents had called the cops), she talked about her first crush, her first dog, the fight she got into over a bill that day at the dry cleaners, the new yoga instructor at the gym, a recipe for quinoa she wanted to try out. She talked about anything and everything that popped into her head. She made a point to never once mention Lucas.

Eventually, she sensed he wasn't listening so she stopped.

"No, keep talking," he murmured.

He didn't seem to care what she talked about, as long as she didn't let go of his hand.

And as she spoke, she literally watched the tension drift from his body.

Finally, he fell asleep.

She put a blanket over him, watched his sleeping figure for a few seconds, and kissed him on the forehead.

And when she left, she realized that giving him a blowjob might've actually been less intimate.

######

She didn't want to wake up him, so she called him the next day, around noon.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Better," he said.

"You coming into work?"

"Depends. Will you be wearing that low-cut red blouse with the black skirt and the black stilettos heels that I like?"

She looked up. He was standing outside her door, smiling at her. They both hung up.

"You made it," she said.

"Yeah," he said softly. "Thanks to you."

"I'm sorry I had to leave. . .I. . ."

"I understand," he said.

"But you're feeling better?"

"Yeah. I'd say the threat of my using Vicodin right now is Code Orange."

"That's low, right?"

"Well, it's better than Code Red."

"Good."

"I owe you one."

"Always."

#####

The following Thursday, she was in House's office—ostensibly to discuss a case, but really just to hang out with him—while he was idly opening some mail.

She took note as he lowered his glasses onto his nose, read one important looking letter—the letterhead looked vaguely familiar to her—raised his eyebrows as if momentarily surprised, crumpled it up and threw it away.

She caught it before it reached the trashcan.

"Nice reflexes," he said.

She smoothed the letter, read it.

"House!" she said. "This is a big deal."

He shrugged.

"Just some fake award thing. I'm sure they're just trying to get money out of me."

"The Genius Award from the National MD's Association? That's a hugely prestigious deal, House. For you and for the hospital."

"So can I have a raise?"

"No. . .but you can go to the ceremony. Which begs the question: What will you wear?"

"Nothing."

"I don't think nude is the preferred formalwear this season."

"I meant, I'm not going to the ceremony."

"I know what you meant, House. But yeah, you are."

"Cuddy, you know I hate things like this."

"Hate hearing people talk about how brilliant you are? I thought that was your favorite pastime."

"Why don't we go to Sullivan's and you can tell me how brilliant I am over a couple of beers?"

"They _let you back_ in Sullivan's?"

"Funny, Cuddy."

"Who's joking?"

She gave him a look.

"Look House. You're going to this award ceremony. You're going to put on a tux, pick up this award, say thank you to the nice voting board, and we're going to proudly display it in our lobby. You owe me."

She was cashing in her "I kept you off Vicodin" chip.

House sighed.

"Only if you come as my date," he said provocatively.

"I don't think Lucas would take kindly to that," she scoffed.

"Tell him it's strictly hospital business," House said.

"If I went, it _would_ be strictly hospital business," Cuddy said, folding her arms.

House shrugged.

"That's what I said."

She tried to sort it out. Of course, it wasn't a breach of protocol for the head administrator to accompany a star physician to a gala where he was receiving a big award. But after the events of the last week, she was feeling closer to House than ever. Could she actually trust herself to be his "date"? (Especially since the gala was being held at the Grand Manhattan hotel. The proximity to all those empty rooms. . . with all those empty beds. . . )

She shook off the thought: She'd been some version of in love with House for the past 20 years but, except for that one kiss (okay, that one toe-curling, mind-blowing, seared-forever-in-her-erotic-memory-bank kiss) and except for his obnoxious boob grab that day in her office, and, yes, except for her recent fantasy about the healing power of her blowjob—nothing had _actually_ transpired between them. She was strong. She had made her choice—solid, dependable, unremarkable Lucas.

Gregory House in a tux was not going to be the ruin of her.

"Okay, I'm in."

#####

Convincing Lucas was another story. But she pretended that it was some sort of drudgery, a necessary and unwelcome task that came with the job description.

"If I'm lucky we'll be in and out in less than two hours," she said.

So he agreed.

House came to pick her up.

When she opened the door, he almost took her breath away.

Because he was usually dressed like a slob, she forgot how truly dashing he could be. He was dressed in a classic tux that had obviously been tailored to fit him perfectly. (Why on earth would House even own a tux? The one time she and Lucas had gone to a formal event, he had rented his. It had a clip-on bowtie and red cummerbund). He looked like a movie star.

Her form-fitting flesh-toned Versace dress was obviously have a similar effect on him. His mouth dropped open.

"Wow," he said, staring.

"Wow yourself," she said back.

They beamed at each other and she forgot, momentarily, that Lucas was standing in the living room. (Her boyfriend was babysitting her daughter as she went on her date with another man. She was a horrible person.)

"Hello House," Lucas said, with a curt nod.

"Hey Lucas," House said.

Then House handed Lucas his cell phone and put his arm around Cuddy.

"Can you take a picture of me and Cuddy? I'll be documenting this whole night on Facebook."

He was joking, of course. He wasn't even on Facebook. But Lucas didn't catch on.

"This isn't the prom, House," Lucas said, roughly throwing the phone back at House. House bobbled it for a second, but caught it.

"No, but Cuddy and I plan to be named the King and Queen of the NMDA gala, don't we? It's a lock cause Cuddy promised to put out for all the surgeons if we won."

"Let's go House," Cuddy said, taking his arm and quickly guiding him away.

"Don't wait up, Lucas!" House sang, cheerfully.

#####

He asked her to dance.

She hesitated.

"I don't know. . ." she said. Dancing was dangerous.

"You have to dance with me. Last time we danced you jilted me on the dance floor and I found out about you and Pukas. Obviously, dancing needs to be taken back for me—karmically speaking."

"Okay," she said.

It was a slow dance. She rested her head on his chest, heard his heartbeat through his shirt. She loved the way he smelled. She loved the way his body felt. She loved the way his hands rested, respectfully, on her lower back. She wanted him to grab her ass. She wanted him to whisper perverted things in her ear. She wanted him do unspeakable things to her.

"That was nice," she said, when the song ended.

And they sat back down.

#####

She dreaded the moment he actually received the award. He didn't have a great track record with public speaking. Usually, he embarrassed her, angered others. In fact, she couldn't remember a single time he'd spoken in public without offending the entire room.

She crossed her fingers as he limped up on stage.

"With every new case, I have a 50/50 chance of losing my medical license or being given one of these Genius Awards," House said.

The crowd laughed.

"You think I'm joking. But I'm not. Managing me is a full-time job. And it just so happens that the person who manages me also has to run an entire hospital, too. Trust me when I say I do very reckless things. I don't just push the envelope, I destroy the envelope—and then for good measure, I blow up the mailbox."

More laughter.

House sought out Cuddy in the audience, made eye contact with her.

"Only an administrator with vision, with fortitude, with, let's call it what it is . . . huge balls can handle me. And that's what Lisa Cuddy has. She knows when to say no. But more importantly, she knows when to say yes. . . ."

House's gaze was completely penetrating right now. It was as if they were the only two people in the room.

"Thank you, Dr. Lisa Cuddy," he said. "Awards mean nothing to me, as you know. But you mean. . . everything."

There was a collective "awww"—and immediate speculation that the star doctor and his head administrator were lovers, possibly married.

"Thank you," House said in closing. "Try the veal."

He got off the stage, sat down, smiled at her proudly. If "you mean everything" was just a line to wear down the last of her wilting resistance, it worked.

She took a quick guzzle of her champagne, slammed the glass on the table.

"Let's get out of here," she said.

###

She practically fucked him in the elevator ride up to the hotel room.

She had never wanted anyone—anything—so badly in her entire life.

The door opened, and they staggered out, slamming against walls, kissing and groping at each other several times before making it the room. House fumbled with the key card, as she climbed up his leg, unbuttoned his pants. Finally, the door opened and they fell onto the bed.

Her dress was already unzipped and his shirt was unbuttoned down to his naval— his chest was red with scratch marks.

"I want you so bad, House," she breathed, kissing his stomach, yanking off his pants.

"You already have me," he breathed back.

They had sex twice—in a rapture of sorts, in a completely delirious state—and then lay back on the pillows, out of breath, gloriously exhausted.

"That was…"

"Yeah," he said.

Her mind suddenly flashed to Lucas—her boyfriend— in her house, watching her toddler daughter. She had told him to reheat leftover chicken pot pie for dinner.

She closed her eyes and tried to block out the guilt.

#####

When she got home that night, Lucas was already asleep.

This was lucky, because there was no way she could explain the tear in her dress, the broken zipper, not to mention the scratch marks on her back, the slightly angry welt on her neck. (She hoped it would subside by morning. Otherwise, time for an early-season scarf.)

She shoved the dress in a shopping bag. She'd take it to the tailor, have it mended. Lucas would never know a thing.

She climbed into bed

"Was it fun?" Lucas murmured.

"It was . . . okay," she said. And she closed her eyes and lovingly recreated every moment of the evening.

######

"So when can I see you again?" House asked, with a confident smirk. He was in her office, the following Monday. He had closed the door behind him.

She shook her head.

"You can't."

He cocked his head, squinted at her to see if she was joking. When he realized she wasn't, the smile dissolved from his lips.

"What are you talking about?"

"We can't do that again. We should never have done it in the first place."

House gaped at her, somewhat defiantly.

"Don't tell me that wasn't amazing sex, Cuddy. Because I've had amazing sex and that was. . .better than amazing sex."

She lowered her hand, suggesting he should keep his voice down. The truth was, even hearing House talk about their illicit night was turning her on.

"I know," she said. "But we already knew we were great that way. Nothing has changed."

"We've gotten better."

It was true. Age, experience, and 20 years of foreplay had made it, by far, the greatest sex of her life.

"It was great," she said. "And I don't regret it. It was something we both needed to . . . get out of our systems. But now we have to move on with our lives."

"_Seriously?_"

"Seriously."

He looked genuinely hurt, which broke her heart a little.

"I don't get you, Cuddy," he said huffily, leaving her office.

Sometime she didn't get herself either.

#####

"It's your night to pick the TV show," Lucas said, collapsing onto the couch and stretching. "So what's it going to be? Mad Men or The Closer?"

"Actually," Cuddy said, hesitating. "Can you do me a favor and stay with Rachel for a few hours? I need to . . .run an errand."

"Sure," he said. "What kind of errand?" There was already a slightly accusatory edge to his voice.

"If you must know. . . House lost a patient today. That happens very rarely and I just want to check on him. Make sure he's alright."

Unexpectedly, Lucas slammed his hand on the coffee table. A vase tipped over.

"Oh for Christ's sake, just stop it already!" he barked.

"Stop what?" she said.

"Stop _what_? Stop lying to me! Stop lying to yourself if that's what you're doing."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said lamely.

"You're in love with him, Lisa. You always have been in love with him. You always will be in love with him. And the sooner you admit it, the sooner we can all move on with our lives."

"Where is this coming from?" she said, stepping toward him.

"Where? Gee, I don't know. Maybe the fact that you can barely go a few days without slipping out into the night to be with him."

"That's a slight exaggeration."

"Is it, Lisa? Because let me count the ways: First, we had to rescue him from Sullivan's. . ."

"He called! He needed a ride! He was drunk!"

"_Then_ it was his birthday."

"I'm not allowed to visit a friend on his birthday?"

"You didn't go to a birthday party. You went to his apartment alone at 9:30 at night!"

"He's a loner. He doesn't do birthday parties."

"He never seems to have any trouble entertaining you," Lucas said, sarcastically."

"That's not fair."

"Isn't it? What about the night you disappeared for 5 hours putting out a 'small fire' at the hospital? Do you really think I'm that big an idiot, Cuddy?"

"No," she said, looking down.

"I haven't even mentioned the fucking award gala. Your big date. I don't know what happened that night, but suffice it to say, you didn't give yourself that hickey."

"Lucas… nothing happened. . .I swear!"

"Stop lying!" he screamed.

He was so angry, the veins in his neck were bulging.

"And tonight," he said, his voice a bit more calm. "He lost a patient. Tomorrow it'll be because he's running a fever. Or had a bad day. Or needs a hug. Or looks too skinny so you want to make him a homecooked meal. Whatever the fucking case, you will invent reasons to be with him. You will always invent reasons to be with him. Because you're in love with him, Lisa. Admit it."

She started to cry.

"No, I'm not," she said, unconvincingly.

"Bullshit."

He folded his arms, looked at her

"Why'd you even pick me?" he said, in a challenging sort of way.

"What?"

"Why'd you pick me over House?"

"Because I . . . want to be with you," she said lamely.

"Really? Is it because you think I'm the most attractive man you've ever met? The most brilliant? The most interesting? Do I excite you more than any other man? Turn you on more? Do you sit around counting the minutes until the next time you see _me_?"

She closed her eyes. Of course, he was describing the way she felt about House.

"Don't answer that. The look on your face says it all."

He stood up.

"Nobody wants to be the consolation prize, Lisa."

"I'm sorry," she said, almost sobbing. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Lucas said. "Just deal with your shit. Be with House. Don't be with House. I don't care. Cause I'm done."

And he stormed out.

####

She sat on her couch for hours, in shock, trying to process what had just transpired.

There was a knock at the door. The sound filled her with a mixture of dread and relief. Lucas was back. But did she even want him anymore? Could they ever go back to "normal" when they both knew the truth: That she really was in love with House? That her pathetic attempt to substitute another man for House had been a complete and utter failure?

She opened the door.

But it wasn't Lucas standing in the doorway. It was House.

"We need to talk," he said.

"I know," she said.

House peered inside.

"Is he here?"

"No, he's most definitely. . . not here."

"Look, Cuddy. This is insanity. What happened at the gala wasn't about getting something 'out of our systems,' as you so eloquently put it. You'll never be out of my system. And I'll never be out of yours."

"That's what Lucas just said," Cuddy said.

"He's wrong! You don't love him. You love me—and you know it."

"No," Cuddy said, clarifying. "He said that I was in love with you."

House's mouth dropped open.

"He _did?_"

"Yeah. He said I need to stop lying to myself and admit that I'm madly in love with you. And then he. . ."—she laughed ruefully—"dumped me."

House was stunned.

"You're kidding," he said.

"Definitely not kidding."

House looked equal parts scared and hopeful.

"So what does this mean for us?" he asked.

She looked back at him. He was looking at her with those soulful blue eyes of his—those eyes she could never resist.

"It means we … admit that we need to be together," she said. "It means we try to make it work."

His body, which had been tensed, slumped in relief. He took a step toward her.

"Cuddy. . ."

He went to kiss her, but she put her hand on his chest, backing him off.

"You can't stay over tonight, House," she said. "There's no way Rachel can go to sleep with Lucas at the dinnertable and wake up with you in my bed."

"I understand," House said.

"We can't confuse her."

"We'll take it slow then," he said. "Whatever you want. Whatever you say. I'll follow your lead."

"Okay then," Cuddy said, smiling.

"Okay," House said.

"C'mere."

She corralled him by the neck of his tee-shirt. He grinned, kissed her. Then, not able to help himself, he kissed her again. She felt his breath against her face, his soft tongue exploring her mouth. He was the only man she ever wanted to kiss, ever again.

"Good night, Cuddy," he said, sighing and turning to leave.

She grabbed his arm.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?"

"I'm. . .leaving. Like you told me to."

"I said you can't spend the night. I didn't say we couldn't have sex."

"Oh thank God," House said.

And he enveloped her in his arms.

THE END

**P.S. I actually feel a little bad for Lucas in this one. So, if this were a rom-com, we close with a scene like this: Lucas in his PI office. A beautiful redhead, a femme fatale type, walks in. "I think my husband is cheating on me," she says. "If so, he's an idiot," Lucas says. Pull back on them smiling fliratatiously at each other. And. . .scene!**


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